


nothing more difficult than love

by two_is_better_than_one



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Unplanned Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-17
Updated: 2014-04-10
Packaged: 2018-01-16 02:18:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1328251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/two_is_better_than_one/pseuds/two_is_better_than_one
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Apparently he was going to Greece with his ex-wife in tow, searching for his missing alcoholic daughter. Whatever could go wrong?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. let the rain fall down, and wake my dreams

It looked like a scene from a movie.

Angry black storm clouds belched out thunder and threw bolts of lightning towards the sodden earth, which was being assaulted with more rain than the soil could hope to hold. They were calling it the storm of the century, bad enough to wreck Starling City. As if they didn’t have enough problems to deal with without Mother Nature deciding to throw them a huge ‘screw you’ as well. No person in their right mind would be out and about when the rain was pouring down so fast anyone who went outside came back in looking like a drowned kitten.

Of course, it could be argued that Quentin Lance was not in his right mind. His grip on the steering wheel of his old Ford was white-knuckled, and the frantic sweeping of the windshield wipers matched the cadence of his desperately beating heart. Of course his daughter had to choose the day before the worst storm he had ever personally witnessed to run away. And of course he had to be so stupid as to leave the city in the midst of a tempest so he could tell his ex-wife about it.

Driving on the highway with music playing louder than the slap of the rain, Quentin tried to think of anything other than the fact that Laurel had up and gone to God knows where, just because she had found out a secret. That was all she had put in her letter – _I have found a secret that I can’t live with knowing._ He heaved a sigh, failing miserably in his mission of keeping his thoughts away from her. It was his fault. He didn’t know exactly how yet, but it was his fault. She was his daughter, damn it, and it was his job to keep her safe! He knew that, wherever she was, she wouldn’t be safe. He knew that shock and anger and whatever else she must’ve been feeling to lead her to run her away from home would drive her back into the arms of a drink. He also knew that in other places, it was a hell of a lot easier to get Vicodin than it was in Starling.

He had really fucked it up this time.

Maneuvering his car into the right lane so he could make the turnoff to Central City, Quentin squinted as the faint blur of headlights emerged in his rearview mirror, quickly turning to taillights as the car whizzed past him at a frightening speed. The muscles in his shoulders tensed, the policeman in him urging him to abandon his journey to Dinah’s house and give chase. He took a deep breath, steadying himself, and turned into the exit. It wouldn’t be much longer until he was at Dinah’s place. She lived on the outskirts of the city, on the East Side. The college she worked at, according to Google, was across the city, and curiosity made his scalp itch. As if he wasn’t worried enough already, now his subconscious was insisting that something was wrong with where Dinah was positioned in the city. He really hated his overactive mind at times like these.

The rest of the drive passed quietly, or as quietly it could when thunder was booming every few seconds. It seemed Central City was being hit just as badly as Starling, for once. It wasn’t much of a comforting thought. He had hoped that maybe there was a way he could get a plane out of Central as soon as he told Dinah – not that he had any idea where he’d be going, but he had someone working on that.

His fingers drummed restlessly on the steering wheel as he waited at a traffic light. Central City sure did like their traffic lights, he mused. They seemed to be the only lights on in the entire city, and he wondered briefly if anyone in the city still had power. He knew no one in Starling did. When the light turned from red to green, he pulled out slowly. The last thing he needed right now was to hydroplane and end up in a wreck on the side of the road. He suspected no one would find him until the morning, and – he cut off that line of thought, huffing beneath his breath. Overactive imagination and police officers were a bad mix, and he briefly wondered why he even chose his line of work when he had to jerk the steering wheel sharply, having nearly missed the turn onto Dinah’s street.

He realized almost as soon as he turned there was no way he was going to be able to see the house numbers through the rain. He hadn’t even been to Dinah’s house before; he had gotten the address from Sarah. The thought made him feel almost guilty, but he had to push the feeling away. He had guilt enough over Laurel, and if he added on the guilt from Dinah he’d be likely never to leave his house again.

He pulled his car over to the side of the street, parking there. After a harried search for an umbrella that yielded no results, Quentin sighed for what felt like the thousandth time in the past hour, and stepped out of the car without so much as a coat to protect him from the rain. At least the July weather kept the rain somewhat warm, rather than the cold November rains that Starling and Central were prone to getting as well. That didn’t mean that getting his shirt soaked, so much so that the gray fabric clung to his body like a second skin, was pleasant. His jeans didn’t fare much better, and he was sure his hair looked an absolute mess, sticking out in wet spikes after only a half of a minute out of the car.

It was times like these that he was glad he was at least sort of fit. The thought felt oddly out of place, but he figured that he would have lost his gall and not ever told Dinah that Laurel was missing if he had to appear at her doorstep with his shirt sticking to a beer belly. In fact, the more he considered his physique (it was a welcome distraction from the rain), the more he was proud of it. His abs weren’t the most chiseled things in the world, but they _were_ well defined. He felt vain, considering his musculature in such detail, but he supposed it might have something to do with the fact he had recently rediscovered feelings for the person he was going to meet. Especially considering that selfsame person had a “someone”. Maybe it was some desperate ploy to feel superior to whomever Dinah had placed her affections upon.

That line of thinking was no better than the death-by-hydroplane one he had followed a few minutes earlier, and he forced himself to stop, instead focusing on stooping over next to mailboxes to read the numbers written on them. Even with his nose pressed against the metal, it was difficult to see what some of the numbers read, and he had to be honest – he nearly cried in relief when he reached the mailbox with her house number on it. He jogged a few feet to the mouth of her driveway. It would have been quicker to cross the yard, but it was more of a bog than solid soil, so maybe it wouldn’t have _actually_ been quicker.

Then again, the amount of water that was pouring down the driveway, the house being on a hill, managed to soak his shoes even more thoroughly than they had been before, and Quentin resigned himself to being sodden for at least the next three weeks. He did, however, manage to make it up to Dinah’s doorstep without any serious bodily harm; just an extra three pounds in water added to the weight of his socks. As he stood there, chilled despite the warm summer air and feeling very much like a sponge, that was his thought - it looked like a scene from a movie.

Not just any movie, at that. It looked like a scene from a really, _really_ bad romcom. Like he was coming to beg for her love again, soaking wet from the rain. The thought was enough to make him chuckle as he reached for the doorbell. As he stood, still being assaulted by the rain, he smacked his forehead with the heel of his hand. Of course. No power. He raised his fist and gave the door four hard, quick raps. Police officers got good at knocking on doors, he mused to himself, and he was relatively sure she would’ve been able to hear his knocks over the sound of the rain.

She came to the door within a minute, and that was the first thing that had gone right that day, and apparently was going to be the last. She was dressed in a bathrobe, and by how tightly it was cinched around her waist, she didn’t have anything on underneath it, and _don’t think about that Quentin_.

She looked at him without saying anything for a few seconds, and he could tell she was definitely picking up the bad romcom vibe. He sighed. “I’m not here to try to win you back, Dinah.”

“You’re wet.” She said dumbly, obviously not really absorbing anything about the situation. He wondered why.

“Yes, that would be because of the rain.” He replied gruffly. “And I really hate to invite myself in, but I would really appreciate being someplace dry.”

“Right.” Dinah said abruptly, stepping back from the doorway to let him in. He stepped in gratefully, and even though he was no longer in the rain, he could feel the ghosts of raindrops pounding on his head, his shoulders, and his back. He was glad Dinah had a small carpet on the inside of her door, because he would feel bad dripping over her hardwood floors. He thought maybe the excess water in his system was making him delusional, because his ex-wife (whom he still had feelings for) was standing not three feet away from him, most likely naked, and the only thing he could think about was how nice her flooring looked.

“Not to be rude, but why are you here?” Dinah blurted. “It is presupposed you were telling the truth about your intentions not being amorous.” She continued. “And really, couldn’t it have waited?” She ended with a huff.

“If it could have waited, I would be at home in front of a fire with a book.” Quentin said, trying to keep the snap out of his voice. Old habits, it seemed, were easy to fall into. “And if it’s a bad time, I can go wait outside for a few more minutes, let you finish whatever.” He said, eyeing the bathrobe pointedly.

“I’m sorry.” Dinah said tersely. “But are you going to get to the point?”

“Laurel decided to skip town without telling anyone where she was going. She left a note saying why, but not where. I figured you’d want to know.” Quentin sighed, running a hand through his hair, which only served to make the spikes even messier than they were. “As soon as the storm clears, I’m going to follow her.”

“How do you intend to do that when you don’t know where she is?” Dinah asked testily.

“I’ve got someone working on it.” Quentin exhaled through his nose. “Look, I just wanted to let you know that our daughter isn’t home right now, and that I’m going to find her. If you wish I hadn’t, that’s fine. I won’t bother you about them in the future.”

“You know that’s not what I meant.” Dinah protested. “Just – why _now_?”

“I’m leaving come the morning.” Quentin asserted. The storm should be done by then, he supposed. “And I figured it was better now than at midnight, and that you’d want to hear it from me and not from Sarah or Oliver.”

“Babe?” A female voice called from the hallway, and everything fell into place as to why Dinah was so irritable. Her, as she put it, “someone”.

“Oh.” A thin woman with copper-colored skin, dark, straight hair and pale blue eyes appeared from behind Dinah, wrapping her arms around the latter’s waist possessively.

“Claire, this is my ex-husband, Quentin. Quentin, this is my girlfriend, Claire Gardiner.” Dinah said, voice tight.

“It’s nice to meet you, Claire.” Quentin said with a nod and a small smile. “Anyways, Di, I’m going to go back to Starling. I’ll call you when I figure out where she is.”

“Quentin, I’m your ex-wife, not a monster.” Dinah rolled her eyes. “And I know for a fact that you do not want to go back into that rain. I also know that it’s as good as a death sentence to let you drive back to Starling in this weather.”

“I drove here in it, I can drive back.” Quentin protested. It sounded hollow, even to his own ears.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” Dinah rolled her eyes again, but her voice was affectionate, not condescending.

“I’ll make some cocoa.” Claire said brightly.

“I’ll go put on more appropriate attire.” Dinah chuckled. Quentin wondered briefly what caused the shift in mood, but couldn’t bring himself to pursue the thought, because at least he didn’t feel the need to antagonize her. She always matched him blow for blow, and if he cared to dissect all the millions of reasons their marriage had to end, that would have been at the top of the list. He, however, didn’t care to do that, because he was still holding on to the hope that they might make things work somehow, someday, however much that hope seemed to die when Claire had appeared.

As soon as Dinah disappeared into a back hallway, Quentin’s phone rang.

“Sorry.” He said apologetically to Claire, pulling his phone out. He was surprised that, unlike everything else on his person, it was dry.

“Hey. Have you figured it out?” He asked as soon as he answered it.

“Greece.” Felicity Smoak’s voice came over the line, and he furrowed his eyebrows.

“In for a dime, in for a dollar, I suppose.” Quentin bit his lip. “Where, exactly?”

“Athens. Does she even know how to speak Greek?” Felicity supplied, quickly following it up with a question of her own.

“As far as I know she doesn’t.” Quentin answered. “Then again, I was a bit in the dark with a shitload of other aspects of her life, now wasn’t I?”

“I’ve booked you on the next flight out from Starling.” Felicity informed him. “It leaves at ten tomorrow morning, provided the weather gets better.”

“I owe you, Felicity.” Quentin said.

“I know, Officer Lance. I know.” The blonde laughed before hanging up.

“You’ve found out where Laurel is?” Claire asked amicably as she led Quentin into a very posh-looking kitchen. He sunk down onto a barstool gratefully – standing in the rain was very tiring work.

“Greece.” Quentin replied, rubbing his face in a way of self-soothing. “Apparently Athens is nice at this time of year.”

“Kids will be kids, I suppose.” Claire shrugged, beginning to bustle around the kitchen.

“Sara’s crisis involved coming back from the dead after five, nearly six, years. I suppose Laurel wanted something suitably dramatic to match that.” Quentin said bitterly.

“Di’s told me about what happened with Sara.” Claire’s voice was carefully. “That must have been hard.”

“If only people were this sympathetic when it actually happened.” Quentin remarked coldly.

“We got lost in the mess of the Queens.” Dinah said softly, walking into the kitchen dressed in a sweatshirt and jeans.

“She’s in Greece.” Quentin informed his ex-wife.

“Alright.” Dinah said breezily. “I’m coming with you.”

“Wh-what?” Quentin stuttered.

“Well, which one of us speaks Greek?” Dinah challenged.

Apparently he was going to Greece with his ex-wife in tow, searching for his missing alcoholic daughter. Whatever could go wrong?


	2. i'm leaving on a jet plane

It wasn’t until nearly the crack of dawn that the rain slowed to a fairly normal pace, and Quentin was able to return to his car, and by extension, his home. He bid Dinah a cordial goodbye, Claire having gone to bed several hours earlier. Dinah would be following him to Starling as soon as Claire awoke again, using packing as her excuse not to return in the same car as him. That was probably for the best, if not for the environment, then for the fragile peace they had built following their explosive argument in regards to Dinah’s ‘someone’ in Starling City three months previous. The conversation at the dinner table had just been the tip of the iceberg of hurt feelings and harsh words, and he was surprised, first by his own willingness to seek his wife out, and then by her acceptance of it. It felt a little off, but then again, his suspicious nature wasn’t really helped by the circumstances.

As he pulled out of Dinah’s driveway, Quentin dialed Felicity’s number.

“Good morning!” She answered her phone chirpily. He winced – did she always have to be so damn _agreeable_? “It’s alright, I’ve had four cups of coffee. I’m vibrating.” Oh – he’d said that aloud. Whoops. She was starting to rub off on him.

“Can you add another ticket, please, Felicity?” Quentin asked, maneuvering the car through the patchwork of traffic lights once again. It was much less enjoyable when there were actually other cars in the equation.

“Already did!” Felicity chirped. “Hate to tell you, Officer Lance, but you heading off towards Central City to talk to your wife kind of screamed ‘she’s coming with me’. I just didn’t want to freak you out or whatever. Cuz, you know, if she _didn’t_ want to come with you – not that she’s that kind of person, of course! – well, if she didn’t, then that would be awkward. By the way, you really shouldn’t talk on the phone and drive. I mean, guilty as charged, but distracted driving isn’t something I’d expect of a cop. Isn’t that a finable offense?”

“You’re rambling, Felicity.” Lance yawned into the phone. Since he and Felicity had struck up an alliance-turned-friendship, he had learned the quickest way to cut off her chatter, especially when she was caffeinated, was to tell her she was babbling. That shut her up for about ten seconds, and it was a much-needed respite. He adored Felicity, but he was just a tad jealous of the fact that she had had coffee already and he hadn’t thought it prudent to ask Dinah before he left her house. “How’d you know I was driving, anyways?”

“I may or may not have installed a tracker on your phone?” Felicity said. Her attempt to sound sheepish was pathetic at best. “I mean, our mutual friend asked me to. I wouldn’t just do that to you, because I’m pretty sure that’s _also_ a finable offense. Tampering with government-issued equipment. It’s like smoke detectors on airplanes! Who am I kidding, I pretty much commit felonies every day, don’t I?” Felicity sighed into the phone. “Good thing you like me, huh?”

Quentin couldn’t even bring himself to point out her rambling. “Yeah, Lissy, good thing I like you.” He stifled another yawn.

“Sara’s at your house with bags and a coffee, by the way. Not sure how warm the coffee’s going to be, or how good it’s going to be – actually, I can tell you right now it’s going to be piss-poor, the Arrow made it, and as good as he is at being a vigilante and everything, he sucks at making coffee. I shouldn’t have let him do that, sorry. But he volunteered! I think he’s starting to warm up to you.” Lance contented himself with listening to Felicity’s burble of words on the other end of the phone line. It served as background noise, and occasionally she paused long enough for him to say something to steer her babbling in a new direction.

“Hey, Officer Lance? You’ve been sitting in your driveway for a couple minutes. You might want to go retrieve your bags and get to the airport. Security’s a nightmare these days.” Felicity told him gently. He figured her caffeine high must have worn off if she was speaking so calmly. Either that, or she was able to stave it off long enough to at least put on a façade of pity for his plight. He suspected the latter.

“Thanks, Felicity. For everything.” He yawned one more time, and was about to hang up the phone when Felicity began to speak again.

“Call me when you get in, alright? I mean, call Sara first, but I’d like to know you made it safely.” Felicity’s voice had the same soft tone as it had when she was reminding him to actually get out of the car. He had no idea what their relationship was, but he suspected father-daughter was a bit more appropriate than acquaintances, or friends, as he told anyone who bothered to ask why he spent so much time with Oliver Queen’s EA.

“Thanks, Lissy. Take care of Sara for me, would you? And don’t do anything stupid. I’d say don’t do anything illegal, either, but hey, it’s you.” He chuckled.

“Will do, Lance.” He hung up to the sound of her giggle, and that buoyed his spirits enough to give him the energy to walk into his house.

Sara was waiting in the foyer with a suitcase and his laptop bag prepared. He smiled gratefully at her before wrapping her up in a hug. He kissed her temple softly, not needing anything more than to hold her. His relationship with Felicity was more verbal, seeing as it was almost entirely via cell-phone, but especially after Sara had come home from the shipwreck, he found their interactions were mostly physical. Not that they didn’t talk – they did – but the little touches they exchanged were a lot more meaningful.

“Mom’s going with you?” Sara half-stated, half asked, finally pulling away from his arms. Quentin nodded. “Come back soon, okay? Can’t have all of my family off in some pretty, foreign country on summer vacation without me, now can I?” She teased, punching him lightly in the chest and grinding her knuckles in not-so-lightly. Quentin would say that he thought she didn’t know her own strength, but he knew she did. She was probably more than a little angry at him for letting Laurel slip away, but he had to take that, because really, he was blaming himself, too.

Sara shoved a Styrofoam cup at him as he walked out the door, and he was surprised that when he took a sip, it was hot. Apparently Sara had about as much confidence in the Arrow’s coffee making skills as Felicity did.

He went through the security lines without about as much enthusiasm as was to be expected of a coffee-deprived police officer at half past seven in the morning. God did exist, however, as was evidenced by Dinah meeting him at their gate, shoving another, much better quality, coffee into his hands to replace the empty cup he had just thrown out in one of the airport’s “garbage terminals”, as they were called. Someone was a bit too pretentious to use the word trashcan, and the thought, along with the caffeine slowly working its way through his system, was enough to lift the corners of Quentin’s mouth into a half-smile.

“Please don’t tell me you have a plan drawn up as to how we should methodically search the entire European continent.” Quentin moaned as Dinah shuffled around some papers.

“No.” She sniffed, batting his shoulder lightly with the back of her hand. “I just figured _someone_ should print out the boarding passes.”

Oh. Well, those were good to have.

“As for living arrangements,” Dinah continued, unperturbed by his once again glazed-over look, “I booked a room in a hotel for two weeks. I figure we can extend the reservation if we haven’t found Laurel by then.”

Quentin nodded once, mechanically, and sucked down another big gulp of his coffee. “Felicity’s going to be in contact when we touch down. She’s been talking with Sara and Oliver about where they think Laurel might go, and she’s devising a map we can use once we get there.” He informed his ex-wife. He contemplated just a moment how he had accrued all of that information, when he remembered Felicity’s monologue he had only half-listened to in the car. He had picked up more of what she said than he had thought.

“What’s the time change from here to Greece?” Dinah asked, more rhetorically than anything. Quentin did some quick math in his head, mumbling a little as he did so.

“Eight hours from Starling to Greenwich, two from Greenwich to Athens…Ten.” He announced the last word to his wife, and she nodded pensively.

“By the time we get there, I think it’s just a full day jump ahead.” Dinah told him after thinking for a bit. “Fourteen hours on the flight, plus ten hours in time zone adjustments.” She elaborated.

“Guess I’d better sleep on the plane then.” Quentin said. Despite the coffee, he was yearning for some shut-eye. Dinah gave him a smile, the one she always used on Laurel and Sara when they were younger and were sleepy.

“You and me both.” Dinah agreed, letting out a yawn of her own. Quentin chuckled at the way her face scrunched up, and as soon as she was finished yawning, she gave him a mutinous look, which only served to scrunch up her face further and deepen his laugh.

“Stop it!” She squeaked at him as he continued to snicker, unable to control his laughter with fatigue weighing heavily on his shoulders. She attempted to clamp her hand over his mouth, but he stuck his tongue out to get her to remove it. She wiped her hand on her jeans, attempting to look appalled, but she began to laugh, too, prodding him in the ribs as she did so.

A tall, well-muscled man sat down next to Dinah, and tapped her lightly on the shoulder, jerking her from her laughing fit. He said something to her in what must have been Greek, because Quentin didn’t understand a word of it. A horrible pun flew into his head, and he bit the heel of his hand to keep him from blurting it out to Dinah while she said a few more words to him.

“Whaddid he say?” Quentin asked, all tiredness forgotten as he bounced up and down in the uncomfortable chair, the anticipation of knowing a secret turning him into a four-year-old on a sugar high.

“Nothing.” Dinah mumbled. It was only then that Quentin noticed she was blushing; both of her cheekbones had bright pink circles painted on them. If Quentin hadn’t known that his wife was one to blush profusely, he would have thought they were painted on, like a doll’s. That thought, of course, sent him back to an uncomfortable memory of Laurel with plastic about to be poured down her throat, and he diverted his train of thought back to Dinah.

“Whaddid he say?” Quentin repeated, elbowing her. “Whaddid he say?” He said again, prodding her with a finger this time. “Whaddid he say?!” He infused as much enthusiasm as he could into his voice, poking her shoulder. “Whaddid –”

“He said we make a very beautiful couple.” Dinah said, though the eight words seemed more like one, as her voice was rushed and she managed to exhale them all out in one breath.

“Oh.” Quentin commented noncommittally. _Oh_ was safe territory, the only thing he could think to say that wasn’t going to make things awkward – or at least any more awkward than they already were.

“Yeah.” Dinah nodded, looking down at her hands, clasped in her lap.

There was no happy teasing for the remainder of their wait, and the only thing that reinforced their relationship to each other was that when Dinah fell asleep within minutes of their takeoff, her head was resting on Quentin’s shoulder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eek! Thank you so much for your positive reaction to the previous chapter. I'm kind of new at this whole fanfic thing (and this whole writing thing, actually), so it means a lot to me. I hope to have chapters up every other week. I know it's not remarkably fast, but it's a speed I think I can maintain, and that's what I'm shooting for with this fic.


	3. we've still got time

Getting off the airplane was just about as pleasant as getting on. He had a crick in his neck from the awkward angle it was tilted out for the majority of the flight, and though he had slept the whole fourteen hours, Quentin felt groggy. He wondered if he would have been better off not sleeping at all.

Dinah hadn’t fared much better. Quentin didn’t think it was very smart to put two very grouchy divorcees in a dinky black car, which would be serving as their vehicle for the duration of their trip. Quentin decided to take his chances in the driver’s seat, much preferring to drive over navigation. After picking up their admittedly meager luggage from the baggage claim and piling it into the backseat, Quentin stooped into the car, flopping into the driver’s seat and taking a deep breath to steady himself in the half second before Dinah ducked into the car, as well. She took a moment to spread the map across her lap, and while she did so, he turned the key in the ignition and turned the air conditioning on as high as it could go.

Athens, unlike Starling, was dry as a bone. The temperature just before noon felt sweltering already, and Quentin prayed that they got to their hotel, which Dinah claimed was nearby, before it reached the high for the day. From the numbers (which had been blessedly familiar) that had been scrolling across a screen in the airport, it seemed that would be the case.

When they reached the hotel, Quentin had to brace himself for the heat before stepping out. He never did manage with the heat well, he mused as he rounded the side of the car. He flipped open the trunk, lifting the three suitcases within it and setting them on the asphalt.

“I am capable of carrying things, you know.” Dinah huffed, smiling nonetheless.

“You can have this one.” Quentin laughed, kicking at the behemoth of a bag that quite possibly could hold enough to clothe a small nation. His dusty shoeprint left a mark on the purple fabric of the suitcase, and Dinah raised her eyebrows at it before sighing.

“Oh, shut up.” Dinah rolled her eyes, taking the case nonetheless.

“So, Felicity e-mailed me a map with suggested routes when I was driving.” Quentin began as they crossed the parking lot. “I figured we stay in the hotel for a while, go out to grab dinner, and then go to bed.”

“And start tomorrow?” Dinah filled in the rest of his plan as they walked through the revolving door at the entrance of the hotel. Quentin nodded, following Dinah to the front desk. She spoke in rapid-fire Greek to the man sitting behind the counter, and he nodded, replying just as quickly. Greek was a pretty language, Quentin thought. The sounds were sharp and almost everyone seemed to have a tart sort of tone when they spoke it. If he thought he’d gain anything from it, Quentin would rather like to learn Greek himself. Now was not the time, though. He’d just have to make do with his meager French skills for the time being.

When Dinah disengaged in her conversation with the man at the counter, Quentin tilted his head inquiringly.

“The room’s on the eighth floor. The elevator bay’s right around the corner.” Dinah informed him. “Dibs on the first shower, by the way.” She added with a smirk.

“Alas, ye foul wench!” Quentin sighed melodramatically. “Don’t I get bonus points for driving or something?” He prodded.

“If you get bonus points for driving, I get bonus points for navigating. And talking to the clerk.” Dinah replied, pressing a button to call an elevator.

“It’s not my fault I don’t speak Greek! Next time if Laurel runs away she should go to Paris. Then I’d be useful.” Quentin argued.

“Whatever you say.” Dinah said, putting a placating hand on his arm just before the elevator door opened. A couple, obviously American, stepped out, offering them a small smile before exiting, leaving just enough room on the rather small elevator for the two to squeeze in, their three bags pressed against their legs.

“While you shower, I’m going to call Felicity and Sara, if that’s alright with you.” Quentin told his wife. A woman crooning in Greek filled in the silence as Dinah nodded slowly, obviously fatigued despite their long snooze on the plane. He hoped she would be able to make it to dinner. The small part of him not focused on finding Laurel was idly wondering if he would be able to win his wife back.

Laurel came first, though.

Dinah exited the elevator first, hauling the dust-smudged purple bag behind her as she located their room, fishing the key out of her purse. After a quick swipe, they both went into the room, ready to go about their various tasks, until they noticed one important detail.

“There’s only one bed.” Dinah said dumbly.

“Yeah.” Quentin agreed slowly. “I guess I’m sleeping on the sofa, then.”

Despite the lack of a second bed, as he assumed was planned, there was a rather nice lounge area in the front of the room, with a large chaise and two dark wooden chairs that fit well with the room’s orange and white color scheme.

“Sorry, dear.” Dinah sighed, rubbing at her temples. “I thought they said two beds. I must have misunderstood.”

“It’s alright. I’ve slept on a couch before.” Quentin soothed. “Go take your shower.”

“Alright.” Dinah hesitated towards him, and Quentin understood the feeling. It was almost like they were married again.

All at once, the moment was gone. Dinah went into the bathroom, and Quentin flopped onto the piece of furniture that would be functioning as his bed for the next two weeks, or until the found Laurel – whichever came last – and pulled out his cellphone.

Sara’s number resulted in getting the machine, and he ended up leaving a long, rambling voicemail.

Felicity’s number was more productive.

“Lance!” She exclaimed happily. “Hey! You didn’t die in a plane crash!”

He couldn’t help but laugh at that. “Please to announce I didn’t.” He chuckled.

“You got my map, right?” Felicity asked nervously.

“Yeah. Di and I are going to start on exploring tomorrow.” Quentin said through a yawn.

“Jet lag?” Felicity asked sympathetically.

“Actually, we’re exactly a day ahead. Speaking of which, what time is it in Starling?” Quentin asked.

“Oh, it’s a little past one in the morning.” Felicity chirped.

“Out of curiosity, Lissy, how many cups of coffee or other caffeinated beverages have you consumed in the past day?” Quentin arched an eyebrow.

“Maybe, like, eight?” Felicity let out a bubbly giggle. “I just wanted to be up when you called. I’m really tired though, so I’m going to hang up now, if it’s alright with you.”

“Yeah.” Quentin smiled. “Have a nice night. Tell Sara I called, if you could please?”

“Of course.” Felicity yawned, and Quentin mirrored it.

“G’night, Lissy.” Quentin said softly.

“Good night, Lance.” Felicity hung up.

Quentin sat on the orange chaise, tracing the edge of one of the white polka dots that spotted it with his index finger. He had no idea how long he spent running his finger along the outside of the dots before Dinah came out of the bathroom, but when she did emerge, clothed in a towel, he was shocked out of his daze.

“I hope I left enough hot water for you.” She murmured. “I hope you don’t mind if I take a rain check on that meal.”

“I don’t mind at all.” Quentin said, getting up and attempting to stretch the grogginess away. He opened his suitcase just enough to pull out a pair of shorts and a clean T-shirt to change into after he showered. Following in Dinah’s footsteps, Quentin let the bathroom door swing shut behind him.

The room was still steamy and smelled pleasantly of whatever shampoo the hotel provided. Quentin flipped the water back on, allowing adequate time for it to heat up. In the meantime, he stood with his head against the door, trying to summon the strength to do anything more than stand there and listen to Dinah bustle around, presumably getting dressed and calling Claire, or whomever else would care about the fact that she had arrived safely.

After a few minutes of leaning against the door, Quentin summoned the strength to move. He peeled off his clothing and stood under the shower, hoping the water would do something for his aching limbs. Fifteen minutes later, the muscles in his shoulders still felt like they were locked together, and he sighed. No rest for the weary, no respite for the needy.

He smoothed shampoo through his hair and rinsed it out quickly, acutely aware of the fact he had been in the shower for longer than he had originally intended.

He toweled off quickly, throwing on his new clothing and opening the door to the bathroom just as he finished adjusting the hem of his shirt.

Dinah was sitting on the bed with two pizzas set in front of her.

“I figured we still needed to eat.” She said with a sheepish shrug as his jaw dropped.

“I’m not sure what you’re insinuating about me if you think we can eat two whole pizzas.” Quentin said, sitting next to her on the bed nonetheless.

“Maybe I’m insinuating something about myself.” Dinah said, a teasing glint in her eye.

“What, that you like to eat?” Quentin had to keep the blush from creeping into his cheeks when he thought about what _exactly_ she liked to eat.

“You’re not very good at hiding what you think.” Dinah chuckled, amused.

“Never has been a strong point of mine.” Quentin shrugged, grabbing a piece of pizza. “I thought we were supposed to eat authentic Greek food. Isn’t that what your first priority should be in Greece?”

“We can eat Greek food later.” Dinah acquiesced. “But the people that the pizza place down the street spoke English, and honestly, I prefer it over Greek.”

“What, you don’t like showing off?” Quentin teased, bumping her with his shoulder.

“I had no one to show off to.” Dinah replied smarmily, smiling at Quentin with closed lips after taking a large bite of her pizza. When she swallowed, she widened her shit-eating grin, and all Quentin could think about was that if they were still married, he’d kiss that smirk off of her face.

“You’re getting that far-away look on your face again.” Dinah warned. “Penny for your thoughts?”

“Just getting lost in the beautiful Grecian afternoon.” Quentin lied. “If I thought I could move out of this hotel room I’d go get some sunshine.”

“Yes, because the sun never, ever shines in Starling.” Dinah simpered.

“In the past three days it hasn’t much.” Quentin defended himself. “What about in Central? Any luck in the sun department there?”

“Quentin, they’re twenty minutes apart.” Dinah rolled her eyes.

“Twenty minutes is a lot.” Quentin protested stubbornly. “Seattle’s just twenty minutes away from someplace that probably doesn’t get nearly as much rain.”

“That wasn’t a very specific example, dear.” Dinah laughed. “To answer your question, though, earlier in the summer there was sun abounding, but it’s been storming a lot lately.”

“Seen any good storms?” Quentin asked. He had several brilliant memories of packing Laurel and Sarah into the back of their minivan and driving out into the country whenever it stormed so they could see the bolts of lightning shoot across the sky without any city lights in the way. Thunder had always scared Laurel, though, and more often than not she’d crawl into the front seat, normally into Dinah’s lap, as she watched the lightning.

“No.” Dinah said, wrinkling her nose. “It’s a shame, really.”

They spent another half hour or so chatting amicably and slowly devouring the pizza. Despite Quentin’s misgivings, they nearly finished the first pizza, though the second one remained untouched. They’d be having pizza again for dinner, then.

Quentin shoved the pizza box into the tiny mini refrigerator that the hotel offered, angling it slightly so it would fit. Everything in the country felt smaller than in America, and it bothered him slightly. He shook the feeling off, attributing it instead to the fact that his daughter was missing, and that was bound to get him a little psyched out and make him a little more than a little antagonistic towards the country that his wife seemed so fond of.

Meager clean-up done, Quentin climbed back onto the bed next to Dinah, who didn’t react at all to his return. He reclined on the pillows, and the two started their conversation again.

During a lull in the conversation, Quentin yawned hugely. His body was still warm from the hot shower, and his stomach was full from excellent pizza, and before he could stop himself, he was drifting into sleep once again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided to post this chapter early because Spring Break is coming, and I intend to write a few extra chapters so I can (hopefully) post more often than every other week. Please let me know what you think in the comments. :)


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